It's Coming Back to Her
by Moon Dolphin
Summary: This is a story about Mexico and the memory she had of America that she had repressed for nearly two hundred years.  This story covers the events leading up to the Mexican-American War
1. The Interrogation Room

All was suspiciously quiet in America's interrogation room. Mexico had not washed her clothes in a number of days despite living near a clear, flowing stream in the back woods. The fluorescent light kept flickering above her to the point where she expected it to malfunction even during times when the light was stable. She was shaking slightly from the shock of being caught red-handed and she eagerly awaited her fate.

"How long has she been illegally living on America's property?" asked Canada as he was looking at her through the interrogation room's window. England leaned against the wall in a way where anyone can easily imagine a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He darted his eyes across the room pretending to ignore Canada and Cuba's conversation.

"Five days," said Cuba, "Or at least that's what she told me."

"I don't mean to play the devil's advocate, but who could blame her? She wanted a better life for herself and we tend to do crazy things when we fall in love with a person who repeatedly turns down our advances." Cuba developed a distraught look at Canada's argument.

"I never wanted my sister to marry that idiot. She knows very well what happened between her and America so many years ago."

"That's the thing: She claims that she doesn't." Canada waited patiently as he heard footsteps coming down the well-carpeted hallway. America came into sight with a little, white box that was neatly sealed shut with masking tape. He had a positive look on his face, like he usually did. "What do you have there, America?"

"It's a hypno-thingy," replied America, being uber-specific, "The people of my country are always willing to try new methods of therapy and this one may just work."

"That's because the people of your nation are a bunch of crazy gits," commented England.

"I've had that girl deported more times than I could count."

"Which is to say not that much." England had all of his snarky remarks reserved for his special little brother.

"That is why I've decided that, instead of deporting her, I'm going to make her WANT to be deported."

"How?" asked Cuba, "By making her watch Michael Moore movies?"

"Of course not, you commie bastard. I'm going to get those repressed memories out into the open using this special form of therapy." By now, the other nations were willing to try anything new. Mexico was just so resilient and lovesick, not to mention poverty-stricken. Not even the million-dollar maximum-security wall that was enacted around America's property could keep her out. A million dollars? Just for a fancy security system? Just for one "threat?" We never said that America spent his wads of cash wisely.

Mexico turned her head quickly as the doorknob slowly turned. The four young men walked inside with America leading. All of a sudden, Mexico became more aware of her breathing, especially since she reached the height of her anxiety. She held her rosary beads close as she starred up at her captors, almost popping them off of the necklace.

"Are… are you going to put me in jail?" she asked.

"Don't worry," said America, "You're going to be just fine. In fact, you'll probably like what we're about to do to you." Needless to say, when Mexico's heard those words coming out of the mouth of her true love, she started getting confused… and slightly aroused. But mostly confused. America opened the tiny, white box and pulled out a round, glass charm hanging from a string. It was so delicate that even looking at it funny would cause cracks to form on its surface.

"Don't worry, sis," assured Cuba as he rested his hand on Mexico's weary shoulder, "If this idiot does any funny business to you, I'll sock him in the puss." Mexico turned her eyes away from her brother and the hospital-white walls and paid attention to the swinging glass charm.

"You are getting very sleepy…" Mexico had already felt exhausted from all of the running she did that morning. This quack practice (or at least some of the nations thought so) further exasperated her exhaustion, or at least it seemed like it. Indeed, her eyelids became heavier and heavier as the pendulum's predictable movements continued. "Your forgotten memories as slowly reforming, slowly returning." Soon, Mexico fell asleep sitting straight up in her chair.

The big system that was her mind was doing a search in the hard drive that was her memory. It searched thoroughly for a couple of minutes until it indeed found some missing files, ones that hadn't felt the double click of a mouse in quite a while. It was time to click these icons after so many years, time to see what was once seen through her eyes.

Now we can stop with the computer-related metaphors and start with the replaying of Mexico's repressed memory.


	2. The New Guy

**Part 2:**

Hot desert. Hot desert came rushing back to Mexico's psyche. Everything was there – the pale sands, the diverse cacti, the lack of water, the hidden scorpions that would reveal themselves suddenly. All of this land belonged to a younger Mexico, who had recently gained her independence from her older brother Spain and had changed her name from New Spain.

_In the 1820's, Mexico's territory spread to what is now the modern day California and the Southwestern US, as well as the rest of Central America._

In the far distance, a younger America surveyed the area. It was uncomfortably hot but his hat provided at least a little shade. He didn't see anything of much interest but he was still glad that he made it all the way out there. His teenage rebellion phase that started the American Revolution had only ended relatively recently and he was prepared to explore more of the continent, especially since he had just completed the Louisiana Purchase from Napoleon. The scenery was sparse and wild but he was able to properly tame land in the past, so this should have been a piece of cake.

_Soaring land prices and a major economic recession prompted Americans to settle out west. Authority figures known as empresarios were in charge of recruiting settlers and taking responsibility for them._

Meanwhile, a young and energetic Mexico was outside washing clothing in a tub. She had a marvelous house – Romanesque pillars held up the second floor balcony and the front stoop was decorated with native flowers, plus a flowering cactus here and there. However, she was saddened at that time. It had nothing to do with the fact that she did chores. In fact, washing clothing was something that she actually enjoyed sometimes. Even rich girls have reason to be sullen.

America, feeling a trifle parched, wiped his brow to clear some of the fluids that were being expelled from his body. Learning a thing or two from the wandering natives that he encountered, he knew that cacti can produce water that can be accessed by cutting them open. The only problem was that he couldn't tell which cacti had safe drinking water and which ones had potential toxins. Before any more sweat could warp his vision, he looked up and saw the mansion, which was beside a very conveniently-placed stream. The location was perhaps too convenient. America was convinced that the whole thing was a mirage.

Mexico was talking to herself as she scrubbed the linens against the washboard.

"It's all worth it, Mexico," she said, "You can do things on your own now."

America, feeling like his brave, hero self, wanted to outsmart the mirage ahead of him. He thought that if he were fast and cunning enough, he could sneak up on the mirage before it could get a chance to disappear.

"Yes…" he said, "It makes so much sense," he said to himself.

Mexico vented her feelings of stress by rubbing the soiled linen against the washboard as roughly as possible. She did this for three articles of clothing and hung each of them on the line in front of her. The linens nearly ripped from the sheer friction that was being forced onto them. When she stopped rubbing the white shirt, the silence returned and her arms felt sore from the repetitive movements. All that could be heard were the vultures overhead. Suddenly, she felt a little better.

Before she could continue to hang the wet articles of clothing, something happened; a certain unexpected something.

"Hallo!" said America as he popped out from the side of Mexico's vision. Mexico screamed and fell backside-first into the washtub. Her pretty skirt of oranges and yellows would now become heavier and stick to her legs if she were to get up. "I did it! I outsmarted the mirage! I should totally get an award for this!"

"I'm not a mirage, you _idiota_!" replied Mexico, humiliated beyond repair. Her face looked red out of both embarrassment and anger. It did not exactly help that America originally dismissed her as a figment of his imagination. It finally occurred to Alfred that she was real… and so were her now sudsy clothes and now-missing dignity.

"Geez… I'm sorry about that." Mexico normally would have told someone like America to die in a hole but from the look of his semi-sunburnt face, he clearly needed a place to rest.

"Are you going anywhere?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I haven't settled down yet and I don't know any good places to set up camp. I'm just a wanderer." Mexico dropped her hands to the side of the washtub. She was normally a charitable and forgiving person but had mixed feelings about inviting this pale-skinned, dirty-blonde-haired person inside. He looked like the other _gringos_ that had been settling here from the east and, like any person who looked different, she had a hard time trusting this lone traveler. Was he up to no good or was his misguided "act" of heroism the only unpleasant surprise that she would see?

"Come inside. You look like you've been out here for a while."


	3. A Whole New Culture

**Part 3:**

The inside of Mexico's house had an upper class flair that looked – dare I say – British. The sofa was made of a rare, dark wood with red velvet cushions, not unlike the cake that bore its name. There was one thing that made the lounge unique, though; there were classical Mayan and Aztec art pieces, like statues and hanging quilts that no doubt originally belonged to Mexico's mother. America still felt out of place wearing his dusty cloak and having a face with dingy remnants of dirt and sweat.

"I made some tea!" said Mexico from the kitchen. She walked into the lounge wearing a new dress, one that was a vibrant blue. The tray she carried contained a white teapot, teacups and a small plate of biscuits that were piled in the neatest way possible. She set the tray down by a miniature statue of the Virgin Mary that was in the center of the coffee table.

"How long have you been wandering?" asked Mexico. America sat in silence before answering the question.

"I dunno," he replied, "Two, three weeks tops? I used to have a horse but she died of exhaustion. Now I just have my own two legs."

"Well today's your lucky day. You're right by a village, which is right by a series of streams."

"I noticed that it was slightly greener around here. For the past week, I've been seeing nothing but beige." Mexico poured some tea into the dainty, little cups and steam billowed out from the tops. "I guess I should have mentioned this earlier but I'm not in the mood for tea. I just want a nice, cold beer."

"¿_Cerveza_? ¡_No problemo_! I'll be right back." Mexico was always in the mood to be hospitable when it came to any request of a house guest, no matter how uncouth.

Not much time passed before Mexico was back on the couch carefully sipping her still-hot tea while America was chugging on the beer like he was at a house party. As soon as he gulped half the bottle, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve with a satisfying grin on his face, not the most polite way to clear one's lips.

"There's nothing like a relatively cold beer on a hot day that makes life worth living!" he exclaimed, being his typical, optimistic self.

"I sort of assumed that you would like tea, since you're an Anglo," said Mexico. She promptly stopped herself before making the mistake of voicing more of her assumptions about America's people. What better way to do that than to change the subject? "I know I should have asked you this before, but… why are you out here?" Mexico nervously rubbed her left leg with her right foot when asking this.

"My people are trying to escape an economic crisis back east and we figured that we should settle far away from there."

"Do you think you'll escape all economic crises from now on?"

"I dunno. My days of rebellion are over. My days of running away from things have just begun." Mexico suddenly felt a connection to this strange, new nation that had breached onto her territory.

"It's funny that you mention economic issues because I happen to be in serious debt right now." From that moment, America's ears tuned in a little better than usual. "You see, I just got through with this big-deal war for independence with my big brother Spain. We finally got what we wanted but it completely drained our money." America's eyes widened upon hearing those words, as did his smile.

"No freaking way! You, too? I went through the same thing, except it was this dude England keeping me down! He was like, 'We're going to put a tax on your tea and there's nothing we can do about it!' And we're all like, "Like hell there isn't!" So we don these Indian outfits and give the biggest middle finger to those crotchety tea-sippers we could think of…"

Suddenly, Mexico stopped feeling so agitated and she, too, established a firm connection. This fellow with light skin and glasses had more in common with her than she thought.

After America's story, the squeaky front door could be heard. Although this was generally a nice house, some things were left neglected, like the door hinges.

"I'm home, _se__ñ__orita_!" said the voice of an older male. Mexico became alarmed since she had forgotten that her boss would have been back an hour after she started the laundry. He did not have complete dominion over her like Brother Spain but this was still his house and he did not stand for filthy-looking people sullying his good velvet couches.

It didn't occur to her to hide America in any significant way before the regally-dressed light-skinned man entered the lounge and saw them there.

"I'm so dead…" whispered Mexico to herself. Boss took a good look at the young man on his couch holding a beer and possessed the curiosity of a gerbil sniffing at a cheese puff.

"Why, Mexico…" he said, "Is this a nation, by any chance?"

"Yes he is. I invited him in if that's okay with you." Instead of looking disappointed, Mexico's boss looked rather happy. In fact, a subtle giggle could be heard.

"Young man, you look like you're able-bodied and brave. Do you mind if you step out with me a bit?"


	4. A Deal with the Gringo

Mexico's Boss and America stepped out back for a brief talk right where the cattle and any suspecting gophers could hear. The sun was on its way down but not to the point where it turned the sky any noticeable color. A lone armadillo was toddling along on the sand at a pace where a turtle could easily mock its speed (or lack thereof).

"Now, Señor," said Boss, "If I'm not mistaken, you must be America, no?"

"That's exactly who I am," said America as he started lounging on the dilapidated-but-still-useful fence, "How did you know my name?"

"Because you're the only nation surrounding us."

"What about my brother Canada?"

"Who?"

"Forget it. Anyway, I'm flattered that I've become somewhat of a celebrity."

"I've noticed that you have a gun with you."

"Yep. It's my second amendment right and don't you forget it!" Mexico's boss felt a little threatened by America's defensive attitude toward his weapon of choice.

"Now, now. I'm not trying to take the gun away or anything. I was just wondering how skilled you were in shooting it." America was thrilled at this opportunity to show a person he just met his experience in this type of weaponry. In other words, he was a showoff, plain and simple.

"You're asking me if I'm skilled at using a gun? Is the Pope Jewish?"

"Eh… no, he's not."

"That may be so but I still know how to shoot this dang thing!" America then pulled the pistol out of his handy holster and aimed at a large, arrowhead-shaped rock that stuck out of the ground. When he fired it (BANG!) the bullet ricocheted off the rock, hit a withered tree branch, hit the ground (where it spooked the poor armadillo) and finally embedded itself into the backside of a poor, unsuspecting vulture that was sitting in the same withered tree. The vulture squawked loudly before keeling over and hitting the ground below. This left Mexico's boss speechless and amazed but left America satisfied. "Would you look at that? We have dinner for tonight!" Boss stood there with widened eyes for a few more seconds before finally digressing back to his initial topic of conversation.

"Actually, Senior, the reason I know your name is because we've been expecting you. You see, Spain had given a land grant to a certain Stephen F. Austin and has essentially given you permission to stay with us." America's heart went aflutter, even if he did not want to show it externally. After spending so long in the desert, not knowing what was going to attack him or knowing the origins of his next meal, he would finally become affluent and put his worries aside.

"You mean it?"

"Yes. With you shooting skills and survival experience, we would love for you to protect our property from our near-constant Comanche raids. Since we are broke and do not have much money to give you for the duty, we would happily pay you with food and shelter."

"You got yourself a deal!"

"You just have to sign this paper." Seemingly out of nowhere, Mexico's boss produced a written contract with parchment that was so new that it had the pure color of snow – no yellow anywhere. The framers of the document also took caution when trying not to leave blotches or stray marks. America didn't notice any of these trivial details, though. That is because, as America, he just wanted to dive into it. He did not care to read the fine print. He took the dipped feather from Boss' other hand and signed his signature at the bottom, which he did a very nice job of doing (from looking at The US Constitution, were we honestly expecting him to do a careless job with signing his name?). "I assumed that you skimmed through it really fast?"

"Yes. I'm a really fast reader." When America picked up the vulture he had shot with his bare hands, he proceeded to walk back to the house not taking into consideration that Boss was not even following him. Before Boss decided to move a single foot, he sneered at America. That young man would do a real big favor by protecting the outskirts of the country but, on some levels, Boss did not really trust him. He was just so rambunctious and spirited. There was no way that he would follow ALL of the rules that he instated. Also, there was the matter of him living in the same household as a female nation of the same age.

"Aye, Dios Mio. Why do I never think these things through?"

_The American settlers of the Coahuila y Tejas Region of Mexico agreed to patrol the desert and protect the Mexicans from any Native American raids. They were known as the Ranger Company, a precursor to the Texas Rangers. When Anglo families from the United States settled in that same region, the government insisted that they make some cultural changes, like converting to the nation's religion (Catholicism) and learning the native language (Spanish). Did the Anglo residents do these things? Well, you'll just have to find out… _


	5. Chocolate for Dinner

**Part 5:**

As America walked inside with his prized snuffed vulture, Mexico was in her wonderful, little garden dancing around. Just the thought of being around all those ripe, healthy fruits and veggies made her feet move and her skirt sway. She was the type of girl who didn't need music in order to dance. It was her heart and mind that supplied the rhythms and melodies. It was the golden sun that supplied the glittery disco ball (even though it was technically the 1820's). These things were all she needed.

"_Ni__ñ__a_!" called Boss, "You're going to pick the necessary ingredients for tonight's dinner, no?" Mexico immediately snapped out of her fairy tale ballroom phase and answered her boss.

"I will be inside with vegetables in a jiffy!" she replied. With the energy and bounce of a jackrabbit running from a predator, she grabbed her wide, hand-woven basket and scanned the plants in the garden. She picked some cayenne peppers that were as red as the first layer of a rainbow. She plucked some fragrant cilantro from below, rubbing the scent off on her delicate fingers. The tiny row of cornstalks was perky and well-maintained. She plucked several for the side dish but then decided to pick several more since America looked like the kind of nation that would want seconds (that assumption wasn't too far off!). She picked some bean pods for good measure in order to start a new jar of dried beans, since the ones that once occupied that jar had been soaking in the basin for a good three hours prior to that moment. She then took little, happy steps back to the house like a child. Then again, she _was_ sort of a child.

Not even fifteen minutes passed before the colorful kitchen smelled of nose-tickling herbs and spicy delight. The boiling and sizzling were quite audible, as were the chopping of the necessary ingredients. Mexico did all this without help from anyone. America was lazing on the couch with his cowboy hat over his face. He simply spent too much time that day on his legs and needed to take much more of a load off.

By the time America got to the table, he was salivating so profusely that, if it weren't for the fact that he was keeping his mouth closed, he would have leaked cascades of drool onto the wonderfully colored tablecloth. Everything else in the kitchen had the same vibrancy. Just looking at the bright, pre-Columbian colors would caffeinate someone without the need to ingest any hot liquid.

Mexico arrived at the table, first with Boss' plate and then with her and America's plates. The dish had the typical Mexican side dishes – rice and beans with a little corn thrown in – but the main part of the meal had a rolled-up, stuffed tortilla with a brownish-purplish sauce drizzled with cheese. America had never seen anything like it in his life. He picked up his fork and poked it to see if it would react in any way. It did not do anything when protruded with the implement (otherwise, we would think that Mexico was some sort of mad scientist or something).

"What is this?" asked America, still poking the "thing" with his fork, "An oversized muddy slug?"

"It is chick—I mean, vulture mole," said Mexico (pronounced "MOH-lay"), "It's a type of chocolate sauce." America started snickering and smirking at this backwards idea.

"Chocolate sauce? Are you friggin' kidding me?" Mexico turned her nose at America's outlandish and uncalled-for table manners.

"Is there a problem, _chico_?"

"Chocolate is a desert thing! It belongs in cookies and cakes! Next thing you know, you're going to tell me that Mexicans wear mittens on their feet!"

"For your information, we do not get very much snow here, so there is no use for mittens. And besides, you Americans know little of the many uses of the cacao plant. Its beans can be ground up and included into a variety of foods. Just try the mole and see if you like it."

"A simple 'please' would suffice." At this point, America was starting to get on Mexico's nerves… majorly.

"_Por favor_." America finally gave in and tried the exotic new food. When he pierced it with his fork and held it up to his nose, he could detect a definite chocolate aroma with spicy undertones. After blowing on it, he put it in his mouth and chewed it while letting the flavor sink in. This gooey, squishy culinary oddity was unlike anything that ever graced his taste buds; it tasted sweet and mellow at first but gave a spicy kick several seconds later.

"Would you look at that… chocolate's not just for breakfast anymore!" America swore off conversation for the rest of the meal as he shoveled the mole into his mouth and let it slide down his throat bit by bit, as if his digestive system became a piece of factory machinery. He completely forgot that vulture meat didn't even taste that good.

After the meal, America belched contently and patted his stomach.

"What exactly did you add to that sauce that made it… different from other chocolate?" Mexico was honored that the new resident of her house was interested in her native cooking. When she spoke, her bubbly tone emerged once more.

"I put some of my lovely cayenne peppers into the sauce," she said. She put her napkin on the table and politely got up from her seat, barely making a noise with the chair. She stuck her hand into her shallow, hand-woven basket and picked up a specimen that she did not use in tonight's cooking. The bottom of the pepper was curled in a hook-like fashion and slightly wrinkled near its tip.

"If there were a Queen of Taste title, you would certainly get it," complemented America. Mexico blushed as best as she could, but the rusty color that would normally result on a pale-skinned individual was offset slightly by the brown skin tone often associated with mestizas. "I mean, it wasn't until I tried your food that I realized how bland the Anglo crap is. I don't think I can ever go back."

"Well, you have the chilis to thank for this." The chili being dangled by its short, skinny stem had an almost hypnotic effect on America. He noticed its every move as Mexico casually twirled it clockwise and then counterclockwise. The vegetable of the gods was right there in the hands of a beautiful foreign girl. What more could a guy want?

"If it tastes good in food, then it must taste awesome by itself!" With that, America grabbed the chili pepper and, being American, he delved right into eating it without considering the consequences. Mexico panicked right before he could macerate it with his teeth.

"America, no! You can't eat a whole chili pepper!" Thankfully, America stopped in his tracks and pulled the chili away from his mouth for a brief and relieving second.

"Just you watch…" Mexico's skin crawled once again as America stuck the entire chili into his mouth and bit off the entire section located under the stem.

Fewer than five seconds later…

"YEEEEEOOWCH! MY TONGUE IS BEING INCINERATED!"

"Get a glass of water!" alerted Boss, who had remained quiet up until that moment. Mexico sprinted out of the room and toward the well where, as fast as humanly possible, she got a cool glass of drinking water, part of which she spilled on the way back. America swigged the water making the expected gulping noises.

"It's not working! It's not working!" By now, America's tongue and lips were so numb from shock-inducing quantity of spice that he could hardly tell if he drank anything at all.

"Get some milk! I heard that milk is good for cooling down a hot mouth."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" reacted Mexico. She ventured to the pantry and grabbed the closest bottle of milk possible. She plopped in onto the table with a force that would have easily shattered the delicate glass bottle if there was no tablecloth to cushion the blow. America, still giving his singed, red tongue some air, grabbed the bottle and completely ignored the step involving the pouring of the milk into the empty glass next to it. Within fifteen seconds, he swigged the entire gallon and set it down void of its contents. He gasped for air as he was determining whether the sweet, creamy beverage made any difference.

"Hey… it worked!" he proclaimed, "My mouth isn't burning anymore!"

"I'm personally amazed that someone can consume that much milk and keep it down," said Boss. All of a sudden, America started feeling a tickling sensation in his throat and started gagging uncontrollably.

"Why, oh, why did you have to jinx the situation?" asked Mexico (since that is totally how reality works).

*Cough* *Gag* "BLECH!"

_It is a well-known fact that no human being can drink an entire gallon of milk and not throw up but that has nothing to do with history or culture._

Sometime after the culinary drama ended, the sky turned a lovely shade of dark purple and a refreshing coolness loomed through the desert air. Mexico decided to spend the rest of the night in the workshop that was next to her house. America had finished getting himself acquainted with his brand new horse, which he was going to use very soon on his first ranger patrol. He held his hat with both hands by the brim since he had no reason to wear it. At this time, he could feel the mild breeze sift through his golden hair, chilling each follicle. While walking through the desert grass, he noticed that the shed door was open and automatically assumed that someone was using it.

When he peeked inside, he saw Mexico sitting on a stool and concentrating on something that seemed halfway important. All around her were clay animals and star shapes that were all sorts of wacky, unorthodox colors. Of course, by now, America had gotten quite used to wacky colors.

"Hi, Mexico," he greeted. Mexico flinched because her concentration kept the focus off her hearing. "Listen… I'm sorry that I made that mess on the floor earlier."

"Oh, that's quite all right," said Mexico, "We don't all learn to moderate unless we vomit once in a while." From her indifferent attitude toward the situation, America could tell that Mexico thought he was a pretty decent guy. She dipped her brush into the lime green paint and continued with her project.

"Say… what are you doing, there?"

"I'm making piñatas. I run a party favor store and some of the stuff I sell there is stuff that I make here." America could not have possibly guessed what clay animals had to do with parties. Was it some sort of metaphorical reminder of the way people act at parties? Was it just some silly decoration with no underlying meaning? "I take it you don't know what a piñata is?" America shook his head quickly as if he intended on rattling his maraca bead brain. "It is a contraption that children hit with a stick and candy comes out."

"Well… that is the whole reason why I go to war, so that I can kill bad guys and spill candy from their guts." Mexico giggled at America's witty (or was he actually serious?) quip. Now that America was peering over her shoulder, he saw a seven-pointed star that had one primary color painted on each point. Rather, it was painted on four of the points so far; three of them still had the basic, earthy color of unfettered clay.

"I love the look on children's faces when they see my works."

"It's really a shame that these things are going to be destroyed by little kids because you have a lot of creative potential." Mexico was duly flattered by the remark. America, you sure know how to charm the ladies. Mexico looked closely to see whether the star point that she was painting was convincing enough with its current green shade or if it needed another coat of paint to get that lovely, algae-colored shine. She decided that some of the streaks stood out more than others, so she pretty much _had _to paint another coat. "Actually, what I've noticed about you is that the colorful surroundings around your house reflect your cheery personality."

"Well, I do love parties."

"I like someone who is not afraid to show who they are. Something's missing, though…" America then rubbed his index finger into a tiny blob of blue paint and swiped Mexico's cheek, leaving a playful and primitive streak on her face. "It looks good on you!" Mexico cracked a smile as big as all of continental America's unexplored territory. She retaliated by swiping some red and smearing it all over his nose.

"Speak for yourself!" she said. And so, like the children they still (sort of) were, they got messy and enjoyed every second of it.

_Piñatas are believed to have originated among the Aztecs, who would make pots in the shape of gods and then break them. The contents inside symbolized the offerings. Coincidentally, the Spaniards had a similar tradition that they brought over. Missionaries would make piñatas in the shape of seven-pointed stars, each point representing the seven deadly sins. It was up to the converts to destroy these "sins." _


	6. First Day on the Job

**Part 6:**

The next day, America was taking advantage of his pre-ranger warm-up period by doing a little target practice. Like a true master, he grabbed the pistol out of his holster and twirled the gun as if there was a camera catching his every move. Sometimes, he enjoyed impressing himself. He then took aim at the canteens set up on the wooden platform and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, those canteens were unintelligible when seen through America's vision. Instead of their smooth, easy-to-grip outside, they had a fuzzy look to them that made it difficult to pinpoint their centers, especially from a long distance. After several shots of the gun, America only ended up hitting one of the seven cans.

"Señor," said Boss, "You're going to have to do a little better than that if you are going to lead the rangers."

"It's this darn vision, Boss," said America in an almost whiny tone, "I just don't see like I used to."

"Ah. I know just what you need."

After a quick trip to the eyeglass store, America came back to that same target range with a pair of lenses that made him distinguished and brought out his intelligence (the scant amount that dwells within him, that is). This time, he was able to see the canteens perfectly and was able to shoot all seven of them in a row. He rejoiced at the fact that he was better able to re-convince Mexico's boss of his potential. When he looked to his left side with his rejuvenated vision, he found himself unable to take his eyes off of Mexico, who was bent over picking some tiny desert flowers.

"I guess this did all work out for the better," he said under his breath. With all those flowers scattered about, Mexico was too delightfully unaware to realize that someone was fascinated and tantalized by her rear-end.

After several days of preparation, the time finally came for America and the other rangers to saddle up and patrol the area for the first time. America's lovely new horse, Charm, was having his lovely chocolate brown mane brushed as he carelessly flicked his lovely tail this way and that. Mexico stood behind the police building and watched the young man with whom she became acquainted prepare himself for his arduous task. Her anxiety and near-grief caused the sinking muscles above her eyes to hurt slightly.

America noticed the girl as he mounted the saddle onto Charm's back. He was confused as to why she was so secretive at this time.

"Mexico!" he called out, "There you are!" Mexico shyly emerged from in front of the building and showed herself, although she was still a bit uncomfortable being out in the open. "Why are you hiding like a gopher?"

"I… I don't want you to see how I feel about you doing this," said Mexico. Mexico's eyes had that clear, jiggled look to them that people have when they are about to bawl their tear ducts out.

"Are you worried about me, Babe?" Mexico nodded her head because she not in the mood for any verbal communication. "Don't worry. If I can survive many weeks in the vast, uncompromising desert, I can surely survive an Indian raid. Besides, it's not like they happen that often, right… right?"

As soon as America saddled up, he rode Charm the horse into town with the other rangers. He looked valiant on his horse, but only to the point where he seemed like the fake king at the end of a parade. The people in the street still couldn't help but admire them for the duty they chose.

Mexico was working behind the counter at her party favors store counting the money. Boss was making sure that everything in inventory was where it was and not stolen. Upon looking outside, Mexico recognized Charm's beige skin with brown spots as he slowly trotted out of town.

"There goes the man who is saving us a whole lot of pesos," commented Boss. Mexico was through counting the money and it was the same amount as there was at the end of yesterday. It was a shame, really. If any of the money had been stolen, she would have gotten America to turn his horse around and come into the store for that reason instead of just letting him ride off into the devil's backyard.

After about a half an hour, Mexico's focus on her work led to her nerves mellowing out and her brain forgetting about America's duties. As a matter of fact, everyone in the quant village went on with their day like it was the day before that or the day before that.

America rode Charm on the outskirts of the village and scanned the horizon. As worried as Mexico got for him, he did not expect anything out of the ordinary. For the most part, his expectations were right. He had remembered Indian raids in the past, but the native peoples that he encountered mostly gave him advice on how to survive in the desert. He couldn't possibly picture a bunch of them storming around and destroying things. He especially couldn't picture them on horseback.

As he toured the area on his trusted, beige steed, he spotted what looked like a conflict. Nothing serious, though. As a ranger, he figured that he ought to check it out anyway. Two men – one big and burly and the other short and slightly pudgy – were quarreling over a small object. America directed his steed over to the two men, whose scornful voices were conveniently placed in the foreground on this quiet, windy day.

"Hey, bucko!" said the burly man, "This here's my horseshoe!" To the burly man, size was everything. Just because he was taller and more handsome, he believed that he had the right to treat the stout man like a child.

"That's my lucky horseshoe!" said the stout man, "Give it back!"

"All right," said America in his authoritarian voice, "What seems to be the problem, here?"

"My horse is in desperate need of a new shoe for his left front hoof," said the burly man, "I figger' that I should pick this barely-used one for my horse that was dropped in the sand carelessly instead of spendin' money on a new one. This fella comes along and tells me that it's his, even though I saw it first!"

"That there's my lucky horseshoe and it fell outta my sack!" said the stout man. As far as situations go, this was indeed a head scratcher. Unlike conflicts of a more violent and straightforward nature, this one involved critical thinking to produce a reasonable answer. But shoot – America was just a young man. How was he supposed to grant these men decent advice if he still had much to learn in life?

"Well, I suspect…" he began. Out of the blue came the sound of trampling and hollers. America stopped his sentence and tightened his muscles. He licked his lips and slowly turned his head like a lazy owl.

Before long, he made Charm dash in the opposite direction toward the source of the commotion. A raid of hostile Indians stampeded into town and America rushed to the scene as fast as possible with his pistol ready in hand.

Upon hearing the warnings from a frantic man outside, Mexico instinctually hid under her counter. The worry she had about America engulfed her again like toxic gas. Likewise, she became unable to breathe when all of the anxiety returned.

Clopclopclopclop… BANG! BANG! WOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWO…

Mexico knew that America was somewhere in the village trying to fend off the outside menace. Right next to her under the counter was a homemade pink donkey piñata. She had taken it off the shelf and intended to fix it later because it had cracks leading like a river to a silver dollar-sized missing chunk. Despite that, it had an adorable-looking grin on its face right under its cartoony bug eyes.

"How can you be so calm and cool at this time?" panicked Mexico. She knew very well that she was talking to a foreign object (quite literally, in America's case) but was desperate for some sort of interaction. She held the piñata like a lap dog and stroked the crack in its side, trying to make the donkey's imaginary pain go away.

BANG! BANG! AAAAAHHH! Mexico struggled to listen to what was going on outside in between labored breaths. Soon, the commotion got fainter and fainter until it died down. To be on the safe side, Mexico waited five minutes before emerging from her "shelter."

At first glance, she couldn't see America outside. A more optimistic person might think, "Oh, he must be in a different part of town," but Mexico's hasty generalizations told her, "¡_Dios mio_! The Indians killed him!" She ran into the uncomfortably hot sun and left a trail of rising dust in her wake.

"America!" she cried, "America, where are you?" The people of the town could be seen trying to go back to business as usual, assured that the danger had left.

Mexico finally came upon three rangers on horses. As expected, they were exhausted and shaken from their ordeal. She immediately recognized the third ranger, who had long since lost his hat and had his "Nantucket" piece out in the open. An arrow had been shot into his arm and he was holding onto that particular place, too cautious to pull it out. Mexico was pleased to see that America was still alive but she was horrified nonetheless.

"America, you're hurt!" exclaimed Mexico, feeling that she should point out the obvious.

"It's nothing, really," he assured, groaning slightly. With the tone of his voice, he tried to keep his promise to Mexico that he would be all right so as to not cause her to panic. However, this was clearly not working, since he was wincing from the pain.

"You need a doctor!" Mexico was upset and angry, but knew that America's risky occupation did not guarantee that he would be hunky-dory at the end of each work day. America finally brought out his full-on scowling look that said, without words, "Who am I kidding – she's right!"


	7. The Social Situation

The next day, Mexico was keeping herself busy when she wasn't at work. Whenever she was in an idle situation, she was trying her best not to think of America. It had been a while since she showed such concern for someone. It almost made her think about how her older brother Spain showed concern for her when he found her asleep at the top of a small Mayan pyramid. Come to think of it, America showed concern when he heard her sob story about being broke and not being able to properly protect the outskirts of the country. What did all of this mean? Why is she only starting to have these feelings now?

Since she had no songs in her head at that moment (a rare occurrence indeed), she decided to strum carelessly on her shiny acoustic guitar. The butterflies, or mariposas as she called them, were seeking out the golden nectar within the confines of the desert flowers, using their proboscises to reach into the buds and give them their much-needed cleaning. Somehow, the careless strumming fit well with the overdressed insects flapping maniacally to get into the flowers.

Eventually, Mexico's fingers became sore and she had to go inside to do something else. America was at the table skimming through wanted posters from the station. Although nobody could tell from his long sleeve shirt, his wound was healing up well.

"As God – and the Goddess Pangaea - is my witness, these crooks will get their comeuppance," he commented. Mexico was learning all sorts of new words from the English language each day. She discovered another to place into her lexicon.

"Hey America," said Mexico, "I was thinking…"

"Yeah?"

"There is a tavern in this town that is always bustling on Friday nights. I love going to social gatherings and I was wondering if… I don't know… you would like to come with me?"

"Don't you still have that lingering cough that you got from your recession?"

"You had that same cough, last I checked, and yet you went out on your horse to protect the town and endanger your life." America could tell by her answer that she was slightly miffed about his reckless duty, even though _somebody _had to do it. It seemed that she was flip-flopping on whether he should go with her. After all, he didn't want America in all his fragility to expose himself to the wide world of nightlife.

"What did I tell you about worrying too much?"

"That I should only do it when necessary?"

"That a girl. Besides, I have my lucky horseshoe." America held up the slightly rusted horseshoe that he grabbed from under all of the papers. It was the exact one that caused the fighting amongst those village men.

"You mean you didn't give it back to one of those guys?"

"After the Indian raid, they compromised by telling me that I could keep it. I guess you could say that problem was solved by default."

Later on, America and Mexico set off for the "friendly" neighborhood tavern that was conveniently located in walking distance. By the time they went, the sun in the sky was making way for a splendid light purple. The color of the wood on the sides of the buidlings could not be distinguished in the ample twilight.

On the way there, Mexico felt the need to strike up a conversation with America so there would be a lack of awkward silence.

"So how did it feel fighting off those Indians yesterday?" she asked.

"It felt… weird," said America. Mexico expected a different answer, like "invigorating" or "scary," or maybe "wild," but no. It was simply "weird" to him.

"Why would you say that?"

"I didn't exactly know why I was fighting them, your boss just told me to do it. At the same time, it felt like the right thing to do."

"Is there any other reason?"

"I guess it's because my mother was Native America, but I guess you already knew that."

"What was she like?"

"She was a saint, that woman. She raised me, my brother Canada and my sister the Vermont Republic even though all three of us looked like the white man. It wasn't until I was adopted by England that I found out that she had died of smallpox, which I guess is the opposite of bigpox."

Inside, the tavern was abuzz with conversation and card games. There was no doubt that America's fellow rangers had come to the same place to schmooze. The activity got Mexico excited. She loved to be in public places with lots of people having a good time. She even joined in the conversation of the couple next to her.

"Barkeep," hailed America, "I would like a beer and a birch beer for the young lady." The barkeeper, who knew his way around a tap, instinctively grabbed two mugs and filled them up with the correct beverages. As soon as they were served, America put the drink to his lips and sipped nonchalantly, peering around the crowded room. He wasn't quite as extroverted as his lady friend.

"You never told me how you like it in these parts," said Mexico when she gleefully turned her head, "So… how do you like the desert?"

"The heat gets intolerable but, besides that, I think I'm staying," decided America, "It's a good thing I ran away."

"You would do that," commented the Latino man sitting to the right of America. When America slowly turned his head, he saw a fellow with caramel-colored skin, a goatee and a scar on his cheek.

"What was that?"

"That's the solution that your people always choose. They run away. Your people left Europe for that very reason and now they're invading these parts. You white people try to act big but you're all nothing but cowards." When hearing those words, America's blood reached the 212-degree mark; that is, it was boiling. He let go of the handle on his mug and made a tight fist with his hand. Without even needing to stand up, he shot his fist towards the mestizo's face and hit him square in the nose. The man fell off his stool and hit the man to the right of him on the way down.

"Things just got a whole lot more interesting!" remarked an elderly man enjoying his alcoholic beverage several tables down. The Latino man sat up a little and rubbed his nose, only to discover blood oozing out onto his sausage-like man fingers. He was not one to submit to first blows very easily, so he got back on his own two feet and socked one in America's kisser.

The crowd in the tavern, who were already somewhat rowdy in the first place, started egging them on.

"Fight, fight, fight!" they chanted. The two went at each other like junkyard dogs whose chains had broken. Each punch they threw was more painful and debilitating than the last. One would assume that Mexico would become horrified (or at least develop an "I told you so" attitude), but this time around, she did not show any exaggerated expression. In fact, she seemed to be admiring America's assertiveness.

America's anger urged him to act not on calm rationality but on unmitigated testosterone. With every punch he threw, he felt like the alpha male of nations that he would become a century into the future. However, he was also bearing the brunt from countless punches from the other man. It soon got to the point where he picked up a chair and smashed it against the Latino's back, breaking the chair's leg in the process. It did not, in any way, mean that the Latino man had a back of steal; quite the contrary. The blood seeped through his shirt from where the chair was dismembered.

After five minutes of this brutish chaos, America threw the man to the ground where several tables had been knocked over. When the Latino man propped himself up using his right elbow, he found himself starring down the barrel of a loaded pistol. America's wolfish snarl would have struck terror into his heart, but this man was already quite terrified as it was.

"Please, sir," said the man, "Do not kill me!"

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," assured America, "But I am going to make you pay for my drink." The man did not know whether to feel relieved or too surprised for words. He simply got up and brushed himself off. Then, he showed America how he really felt

"You… are such a kind person!" With that, the Latino man hugged America as if he were his long-lost brother. America patted him on the shoulder to go along with it.

"No problem, man… no problem."

As Mexico and America were walking home, America couldn't help but be bothered by his outburst, especially since he had it in front his lady friend. As if that wasn't enough, he also had it in front of roughly half the town, thus setting a bad example in terms of adequate ranger behavior.

"You don't hate me for that outburst, do you?" he asked Mexico, since she was obviously thinking it.

"No," said Mexico, "As a matter of fact, I enjoyed it."

"You did?"

"I admire how you stand up for your honor and defend yourself every chance that you get. You have that rough-and-tumble spirit that made you American in the first place. It almost makes me like you even more." Mexico said the last sentence with a smooth, melted tone that would normally go along with rapidly-blinking eyelashes. From hearing that, America felt cuddly warm on the inside, the type that one would feel when holding one of those hot water bottles with the fake fur lining. Nevertheless, he still felt terrible for what he did to that man.

"I don't know what got into me. As a ranger, what I want to do is solve conflicts with words, which is what I tried to do with those two guys yesterday. That never happened, though. Now, I'm expected to solve the conflicts through violence."

"You did exactly that in the bar."

"Yeah, but maybe you've noticed that I didn't actually kill him? I immediately stopped my seeping rage and primal urges before they truly got ugly."

The couple finally got back to the house, which had candlelit windows showing that Boss was still awake. The desert flowers, however, took their hint from the darkened sky and closed up to slumber. The couple decided to stand by one of the lit windows to set the mood.

"Say what you want," said Mexico as she held each of America's hands and looked him in his eyes, "But I think you're a hero." After several seconds of making direct eye contact, they latched onto each other's lips, opening their moistened mouths several times in the process. Afterwards, they took some more time to look at each other, acknowledging the new, different feelings that they had right then and there, whichever ones those may be. America could see an awkward-yet-endearing smile emerging from Mexico's face while Mexico spotted America remoistening his lips with his tongue. "We should get ready for bed. You know how Boss gets when we're gone for too long."

Before they got inside, they let go of each other's hands, severing the meaningful connection they had… only literally, though, not emotionally.


	8. The Mosquito Argument

The year was 1830 and quite a bit had changed for the Mexican government. For one, Mexico had elected its first president, Guadalupe Victoria, in 1824 and, since then, Mexico had gone through various boss changes. There were some instances where Mexico's boss was replaced several months after the current one took office.

America decided to take advantage of one particular day to do some more target practice with various canisters. This day was one that was still sunny within and without, but a nice breeze would pop in to make things more refreshing. This time, he had Mexico set up the canisters after they had been shot down, which she did gracefully and symmetrically, although she usually was not obsessive-compulsive.

Click, BOOM, click, BOOM, click, BOOM

He didn't need to worry about disturbing anybody or attracting their attention, since the first shots he fired had already scared off the animals and any possible person who would loiter around there. When Mexico had finished putting up the targets, she sat somewhere far away and tried to dart her pupils as fast as they would go to catch up with each bullet that was being fired. It wasn't always possible.

One animal in particular was not fazed by the loud noises. A mosquito drifted in the breeze and found her way onto Mexico's arm as she was watching the action. She chose a nice spot near a freckle to sap her life juices.

"Ow!" she said as she felt the most miniscule prick into her pores. As she swiftly looked down, she saw that the mosquito had already succeeded in sapping some vital liquid from her body, as indicated by the little pink bump. She slapped her arm but the bug was too fast. The breeze helped her escape fully nourished. America saw the dilemma in between shots and smiled to himself. A mosquito bite is not the end of the world.

America thought that he had scared the others away, but one man did not cower at the sound of a trivial gun blast.

"Howdy," said the man who walked into the scenery all of a sudden. This gentleman wore the finest leather boots that stood the test of time and outlasted even the most violent of sandstorms. He wore a cloak, except it was not as long as America's and it made the average person notice his pants a little more. He had a handlebar mustache that took on his rusty red hair color and looked perfectly trimmed despite not coming into contact with a razor for quite some time. America stopped his shooting to see where the casual greeting originated. "Allow me to pick off the last two for you." With one swift move, he took out his gun and shot the last two canisters, causing them to pop up like Mexican jumping beans.

Even though this mysterious man stole America's glory, he was more than happy to see him.

"Clyde?" he said.

"You know this man?" asked Mexico as she sat Indian-style on the sand.

"Please to meet you, young lady. The name's Clyde Haley."

"This is the guy I traveled with from the east," explained America, "That is, until he abandoned me. What gives?"

"Of course I would wander off, scamp. I'm a loner. I go where the wind calls. I am needed where the coyote howls and the woodpecker snoops voraciously, where the buffalo congregate, the cacti watch over the dry horizon and the vultures fly around until a poor, individual soul breathes his last breath and has the perspiration sucked from his body like a raisin." There was silence for a brief two seconds.

"YOU STILL ABANDONED ME IN THE DESERT, YOU ANTISOCIAL WEIRDO!"

"Okay, long story short, I got high on peyote and forgot that you even existed."

"So what are you doing around here?" America twirled his gun as if it were as light and lofty as a good feather. He trusted himself enough to do this without any negative consequences.

"I was just in the neighborhood and I wanted to see what sort of shenanigans you were pulling."

"No shenanigans, Clyde." America then walked over to Mexico, crouched down and whispered into her ear. "On our journey, I tricked him into sitting on one of those ball cacti by putting it by his pillow." America then stood up and talked in his normal voice, although it was not like the gentlemen didn't know what he was saying. "No shenanigans, Clyde. I've been a good nation and protecting the town from Indians."

"Well that's mighty brave of you."

"What have you been doing?"

"I've been wandering from place to place, but of course there's no good money in that. I'm trying to get a job as a taxidermist but I haven't convinced my potential boss since I've only been able to shoot rattlesnakes. Nobody wants a rattlesnake staring at them in their living room."

"No, they sure don't."

"Listen, in the mean time I have this important assignment and I chose it because I'm perfect at wandering."

"Yes, I believe you've said that," commented Mexico.

"What assignment is it?" asked America.

"Oh, jeez. I think I've said too much," said Clyde. "You kids behave yourselves now." Clyde left and put rested his hand on his hat, even though the wind had died down significantly since the conversation began. Neither America nor Mexico pondered too much as to the nature of this "assignment."

On the next beauteous night, the sky could be seen in its pure, almost ivory shade with the stars poking outwards, hoping to be noticed by some wayward dreamer. The darkness covered the land and made silhouettes out of the protruding objects.

"America!" said Mexico in an excited tone, "Come quick! It's beautiful!" America was busy looking in a full-body mirror by candlelight and posing with his gun. He thought, "Yeah… I'm the one who spooked that Indian today. That was me, heroic, little me."

"What could possibly be more meaningful than me loving myself?" asked America with much chutzpah.

"Just come outside! I don't want to spoil the surprise!" Growing ever impatient, she grabbed America's hand and ran off. America bent over slightly while being dragged since Mexico was a good six inches shorter than he was.

Once they reached the front porch, America's eyes widened at the sight of the night sky. Shooting stars like tiny, white bullets zipped above them and dissipated as quickly as they formed. All of a sudden, America did not seem so focused on himself anymore. The entire universe had a beauty that could not be matched by any feature on the human body.

The two sat on a pink blanket that Mexico had set outside for the occasion. They sat in silence darting their eyes back and forth to keep up with the "bullets" of God. They were both so distracted by the splendor that they almost forgot that the other was there. They began to say things that they normally wouldn't say during times that they would be verbally self-conscious.

"Could God make anything more beautiful?" asked Mexico in a dreamy voice.

"He made you, didn't he?" replied America.

"You could charm the fish right out of a pond, America." America looked at the vast expanse of the sky and back at Mexico, who in his perspective took on the appearance of an infatuating marble bust. Without even realizing it, he slipped his hand up Mexico's skirt and placed it on her knee. Mexico became startled when she felt his warm palm near her thigh. If America were any other lovesick man, she would have slapped him across the face.

"America?" she said, pretending to act surprised. She knew exactly where this was going and wanted to get off the ride before the carnie could pull the start lever. America pulled his hand away, suddenly feeling ashamed.

"I… I thought you felt that way about me."

"America, of course I do. You may be stupid sometimes but you've won me over."

"So then… why don't you want to do it?" Mexico tried hard to think of a reply to America's inquiry, since he was feeling biologically rambunctious at that moment.

"I don't think I'm ready for something as big as that. I want to save myself for marriage." Within the blink of an eye, America had one of his rare insightful moments.

"Mexico, that mosquito that bit you this morning…"

"What about it?"

"When she sucked your blood, she got to have some of you inside her. She didn't need to be bound to wedlock in order for her to do that." Mexico's listened well to America's argument, as disgusting as it was. "What's more, she got away with it. You tried to swat her, but she flew away in time. So tell me: why is it so wrong to have some of me inside of you right now?" Mexico's conservative views were becoming more loosened from hearing these words. He posed an excellent point, but still felt the guilt of sneaking a bite of birthday cake from the fridge.

"But God doesn't—"

"God isn't watching us right now. He's too busy making this beautiful spectacle in the sky to pay attention to us." By now, the shackles of conservative values had come completely off and Mexico was feeling more turned on by her ranger companion.

"I guess we can do a little something-something." She brushed some stray hair away from her face and batted her eyes. She placed her hand just inches away from America's crotch, which gave him the signal that he could finally break down the barriers to the city and infiltrate her "vital regions."

"Just you wait. I'm going to show you a whole new world and it has nothing to do with a magical carpet ride… or maybe it _does_." With that, the couple delved into touchy-feely foreplay, which eventually lead to the super-awesome, sugary happy fun time that was sexual intercourse.

Meanwhile, at a decent-but-slightly-delapidated ranch several miles away, Cowboy Clyde was staring at the same meteor shower with awe from the kitchen window. He sipped his coffee, which he was drinking at that hour for a reason that he did not care to specify. The pitter-patter of mice was heard from the corners of the creaky wooden floor. There were slightly more pitter-patters than several weeks ago, possibly because the mice had added to the population since then.

Down the hallway, a bedroom door opened and the eyes of another person living in that house peered out. Slowly but surely, a woman of the Native American ethnicity walked into the hallway. She wore an elaborate beaded outfit made from the skin of an animal with white fur. She tried to step quietly but the old floorboards gave away her presence. She did not necessarily need to tap Clyde on the shoulder in order to get his attention.

"Clyde," said the woman, "The Great Wakan Tanka came to me in my dreams."

"Yeah?" replied Clyde as he turned away from the blotchy window.

"It is finally time for us to go."

"What? Now?"

"The Great Spirit never lies when it comes to me. Besides, I am feeling the symptoms."

"Are you sure it's not a bad batch of beans you ate?"

"I'm positive, Clyde."

"All right. It could be intestinal distress is all I'm sayin'."


	9. Startling Second Thoughts

Early that morning, Mexico woke up to a strange warmth that surrounded her entire body. As she was regaining consciousness, she was able to recognize the source of the heat on the side of her body that was facing up; it was that of the sun. Accompanying it was the sound of ravens scavenging for their morning meal. Meanwhile, a different warmth could be felt on the front of Mexico's body, which was facing to the left. This warmth was more profound than the sun and it reached around to her back like a ravenous serpent. Accompanying it were tiny gusts of air going in and out, blowing on Mexico's dark hair. Also accompanying the warmth was a rhythmic beating that could be felt behind a fabric lining.

When she opened her eyes, she glimpsed at the light of day. Also basking in that light was her dear companion, who was still sound asleep while at the same time embracing her. She was close enough to him so that she could hear every thump of his heart, which was at a calm, slow tempo. It had been beating rather rapidly right after they made wonderful music under the meteor shower, but that was many hours ago. As much as Mexico wanted to stay like this for a few more hours, she felt that the lack of darkness should be their reminder to wake up.

"_Buenos dias_, Sleepy Head," she said as she moved some of his hair out of his face. America made a guttural utterance as he opened his eyes and saw Mexico starring back at him. America flinched once he realized that he was not in a bed.

"Wait… we're outside?" he asked, "And why are my pants down?" Mexico giggled.

"Don't play dumb. You didn't think that we would go inside and go on our merry way once we made whoopee last night."

"It's rather nice waking up in the morning sun. I mean, we haven't reached midday yet, when it's usually scorching." Mexico rolled over onto her back and smiled a great big smile while closing her eyes to avoid any sun-induced blindness. The sand beneath the blanket provided comfort that one could equate to goose down.

"Last night was wonderful. You're quite the stud."

"Well, don't get _too_ used to it. It's not very often that I take girls on 'trips to Florida.'"

Mexico enjoyed her literal moment in the sun when she realized that she had to get up off of the blanket sometime. She was rather alarmed when she made this realization and signaled it by raising her eyebrows slightly.

"We have to get up soon."

"Why would you say that, baby?" Mexico found it increasingly difficult to proceed and give an explanation. She did not want to offend the man (if you can call him that) who was boarding with her.

"How do I put it? Boss Bustamente has only been in office for a short time, but I already do not think that he likes you very much."

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, for one, he snarls at you when you leave the room and often complains about you when you're not there." Mexico expected America to be outraged or in denial about such a fact, but he accepted it pretty well, although he was not too happy about hearing it.

"Yeaaaaah, those things would probably indicate a disliking."

"We should head inside and get ready for our daily routines. I suggest that you pull up your pants first. You seemed to have tossed my underpants somewhere…" Mexico placed the side of her hand on her forehead and scanned the scenery.

"We're in a desert. It's not like they have very many places to hide."

Later that day, Mexico was busy counting the pesos in her change box at her party favor store when her boss marched in. The sound of his hard shoes on the semi-dilapidated wood startled Mexico, even though she had nothing at all to hide from him. The man, dressed far too formally for a party store, shifted his eyes left to right. Like a Latin version of Germany, he took mental note of which items were out of place and dedicated his time to moving them so that they were in line with the others.

"Nice work, Mexico," he said, "Your inventory is all here and not very much is out of place." Mexico witnessed one of the rare occurrences of her boss smiling while she was in his presence.

"Might I ask why such a system would matter?" asked Mexico as her head bowed down. It was almost as if she were having second thoughts about asking the question just as she was doing it.

"My girl, I would normally have you horribly punished for asking such a thing, but I would never do that to my own country. The reason that I want things to be orderly is that everything tends to topple and become displaced when one member of the group is not behaving like the rest. Like those Anglo-Americans say, 'It takes one bad apple to spoil the bunch.' You wouldn't behave like that or associate with anybody like that, would you?"

"No, _se__ñ__or_."

"That's my girl." Mexico's boss proceeded to pat her on the head like she was a toy dog that had fetched a ball. Mexico was normally a strong girl, an independent spirit that knew when to split away from her well-meaning adoptive brother. However, during this time, Mexico was not one to stand up for herself. Perhaps it was the fear that she would become bankrupt again if she did? Oh well. That's a topic for a psychiatric analysis paper, not a fanfic.

"You have a gracious day, _Se__ñ__or_." With that, Boss left the store and ventured out into the hot sun, where he would, more likely than not, ruin his fancy suit with sweat stains in the ninety-degree weather.

America decided to spend his break strolling around the cliffs in the area. He found a pleasant stream just rolling its way through the desert, not distrought by the fact that the unforgiving sun could evaporate it at any given chance. America leaned down and scooped up some of the clean-looking water and took a sip. When he opened his eyes, he found something at the bottom of the clear stream that, for reasons that were then unknown, was absolutely gorgeous. He reached into the cold, clear stream and picked up… could it be? It was! It was a gold nugget the size of a man's fingernail!

"Sweet!" commented America. Even if the fabled City of Gold did not exist, America figured that this was probably how the legend originated. Right away, he found the absolute perfect use for the metal.

He rode his horse Charm to town and stopped at the local jeweler. The owner of the store found it unorthodox that a man with such a masculine vocation would walk into a place with shiny silver charms and shimmering diamonds.

"How may I help you, young man?" asked the woman while she was polishing a rattlesnake pendant. American took the gold nugget out of his pocket and set it on the counter in full view.

"I want you to make this into the most beautiful engagement ring you can think of."

"Come back in about a week and I'll have something for you."

"Try to have it done as soon as you can. I can't wait to see my girl's face when I pop the question."

Several days later, America rode around the town in search of conflict and suspicious activity on his beloved horse. As he was polishing his pistol with an unfettered, white handkerchief, he caught sight of two men in uniform dragging off a man with a stack of newspapers.

"Let me go!" he shouted impatiently, "You can't hide the truth!"

"Tell that to _el juez_," said one of the officers. It was at that moment that one of America's fellow rangers came by on his horse.

"What's going on over there?" asked America, "What exactly did that guy do?"

"Oh, yeah. He's selling newspapers with controversial articles printed in them."

"…controversial?"

"Some of them criticize the government and the president. In fact, Bustamente hired those officers just for the purpose of catching anybody disobeying that law." America became so angry at this explanation that he felt like punching his horse. Of course, he had enough judgment to know that nothing good can come out of punching a horse while you're riding it.

"Why wasn't I alerted of this?" asked America as he was gnashing his teeth.

"Maybe because he knew you'd have that reaction?"

"Who does that egotistical rat bastard think he is?"

"Ooh… you shouldn't let him hear you say that, man."

"We come from the land of the free and we don't take crap like that! How could Mexico allow her boss to do this?" America felt disheartened that the nation to which he became acquainted was heading in this direction. It was his worst nightmare: His engagement ring was not even ready yet and he was already having second thoughts. Being the positive thinker, he dismissed this moment as trivial and thought ahead to the priceless expression on Mexico's face upon showing her the ring. He tried and tried and finally and tiny smile appeared on face.

Meanwhile, in the vast expanse of the desert, Clyde and his Native American companion ventured further from civilization in search of the most private of all privacy.

"So…" he said, trying to strike up a conversation, "You've had kids before this?"

"Yep. If you've looked at a map of this continent recently, you would already know that," said the woman in an aggravated tone. The heat was obviously getting to her.

"Sheesh, sorry. So what were your previous pregnancies like?"

"Well… my first pregnancy was one that I didn't even notice until I went into labor. I think you can blame the kid for that, since, even as a fully-grown being, people tend not to notice him. My pregnancy with my daughter ended early. She considered herself to be too 'empowered' to be confined to a womb for nearly a year. And my third pregnancy… whoa boy. That was the one where I got high on peyote all the time. My companions told me that taking peyote during pregnancy will cause the baby to become a megalomaniac with impaired intellectual development. I just said, 'naw… my kid will never end up like that…'" The Native American woman kept going on and on about pregnancy symptoms and other inconvenient aspects of womanhood but Clyde only registered half of it. To him, she was saying, "bitch, bitch, bitch bitch, biiiiiiiiiiiiiitch."

"Well Floating Duck, all I can say is that I'm thankful that I was born a man."

"Well I'm happy that you're happy." Did you hear that? The sarcasm meter just exploded.

"So… you getting hungry yet?"

"Clyde I'm pregnant. I'm hungry when I'm not hungry."

"I'll take that as a yes." Meanwhile, a rascally hare came into view. He was sniffing the ground, thinking that something interesting would magically appear in the sand. "There's something…"

"Stand perfectly still… I'll teach you how to hunt this morsel." The hare looked up slightly and saw two human beings. He quickly went back to his sniffing after determining that they were not much of a threat. There was a giant saguaro cactus nearby that was perfect for hiding, so the two travelers tiptoed to its back. With quick precision, Floating Duck pulled out a blade made from a beaver tooth. She handed the blade to Clyde, who held it firmly enough so that it would not slip out of his hand, but also did not cut him. "It's about time you learned how to hunt. I want you to go up and slash the creature with this knife."

"You make yourself sound like an expert in this category."

"That's because I am the expert. I'm… THE HEROINE!" With that, the hare raised its head and focused his ears in the direction of the exclamation. Like a rocket given an extra boost of adrenaline, he dashed away, leaving a trail of dust where he once stood. Clyde glared at Floating Duck as if she had five heads.

"What was that? You sounded so rational and mature up until this point."

"I'm sorry. My ego tends to get inflated from time to time." Clyde turned his head and spit some saliva onto the ground to get rid of a sudden funny taste that had appeared in his mouth

"You're starting to remind me an awful lot of a certain young man that I once knew."


	10. A New Place for Home

Back in the realms of reality as we know it, Mexico was still propped up in her chair in a comatose state like a ragdoll at a tea party. There were times when she would fidget while her dream sequence was playing in her head, but her baser instincts told her not to move too much lest she falls off the chair and abruptly end said sequence. America, Canada, England and Cuba eventually got sick of staring at the girl (I'll bet they weren't expecting this to go on for more than nine chapters, da?) and started playing a wholesome game of Uno in the living room.

The game was relatively straightforward. Everyone was playing by the rules – put one card in the center that is the same color or number as the previous card. That is, until America added his flavor to the game (AMERICA HAZ A FLAVOR). He decided to slap down an authentic joker card on top of the sloppy pile of colored Uno cards, halting the game at its height.

"Ha ha!" he said with his famous America laugh, "A joker! Nobody else has a card like it! I win!"

"Hey, wait a minute…" said Cuba, "That's not a legitimate rule in the game. Hey, wait a minute… you're supposed to take those cards out of the deck before you start playing. Hey, wait a minute… Uno doesn't even have joker cards! Why, I oughta…" Just as Cuba was about to wail on America, who was still smiling like a joyful idiot, England grabbed his arms from behind and held him back.

"Violence never solves things!" he said. "Let the lad have his moment in the sun before China takes his place." Suddenly, Korea peered from behind the door unexpectedly.

"Did somebody say my name?" he chimed.

"No, Korea. I said 'China.'"

"That's okay. Misunderstandings originated in Korea!"

"They sure did, Korea. They sure did."

Meanwhile, back in Mexico's dream world…

Mexico spent one evening sitting on the steps of a cozy porch with Daniela and Gertrudis, two girls who were the same age but at the same time, not the same age (remember, nation-tans don't age like we do). America rode past them on his horse and slowed down slightly to tip his hat at the ladies.

"Hi, there!" said the three girls. America went on his way and passed the friendly greeting off as a footnote, not taking into account that he could have offended Mexico by flirting with other girls while she was there. As soon as he left, Rosa went back to her typical cynical mode.

"He is such an idiot," she said. This struck Mexico as jarring, seeing as this was a friend who said this. "Do you know what he did the other day? He was asked to whitewash for somebody and he grabbed the nearest white guy off the street and rubbed him against the fence." Mexico shrugged off the comment and added her comment to one-up the girl.

"He is an idiot, but he's my idiot."

"Oh yeah," said Eva, "You're totally dating him." As if a Latina living in 1830's Texas would speak like a valley girl…

"He's cute, but… what the hell do you see in him?" asked Rosa.

"I can see past his naivety, revealing the well-intentioned sweetheart that he really is." Mexico hugged herself as if the amount of cuteness in her body gushed over and spilled a gooey pink mess onto the wood.

"So where do you think you're going with him?"

"I don't know, Rosa. I really don't know." Mexico starred at the distance and used her deep thoughts to separate herself from her friends. She was convinced that nothing would ever change her mind about the boy she loved, not even an offhand comment by a girl who she probably didn't like very much anyway.

As America stopped his horse, he started having sour thoughts in his head that gave him a tied-up feeling in his chest. The more powerful feelings he felt towards Mexico, the more he wanted to have nothing to do with her. He had the same feelings that he had when he was on the verge of killing his adoptive big brother in the Battle for Independence. This wasn't anything like deciding between anything trivial, like getting chocolate or vanilla soft serve (or even chocolate/vanilla swirl), he was truly having second thoughts.

Meanwhile, Clyde and his hormonally-stressed Native American lady friend were sitting in the desert enjoying a nice lunch of freshly cooked desert hare – one that Clyde had caught himself.

"I'm so happy that you finally learned how to kill your own food," said the lady, getting words out while her mouth was full. This was a questionable habit that she developed from loving to talk in the company of others, as well as a habit that was commonly seen in a cannon character (seriously, though – if you haven't connected the dots by now, I am convinced that the circuits in your brain have been thoroughly chewed through by an angry gopher). "After all, pretty soon, my midsection is going to be too swollen for me to hunt anything."

"You can count on me, Floating Duck. If not, we can just feast on beans like my other cowboy conpadres. Hopefully, it won't come to that."

"You know, Clyde, we probably have more similarities than differences." This time around, Floating Duck had swallowed her reasonably-sized lump of meat. "You cowboys are wanderers and never stayed in one place and my people have always been wanderers who never stayed in one place."

"That's quite observant of you. I guess it's the spirit of the west that dwells within all of us. I mean, who would want to stay very long in a place that has little water?"

"Granted, not all of us are like that. There were these people… wait, I have an idea!" Surely, a tiny flame would have appeared over Floating Duck's head, since light bulbs were at least another fifty years away.

"What is it?"

"It'll have to wait – my pregnancy is making my appetite absolutely insatiable." With that, she grabbed another piece of the massive rodent and stuffed it in her mouth. NOM NOM NOM…

"Slow down, Miss Piggy. I haven't even had seconds yet!"

Later on, the couple walked some more across the vast expanse of sand (what else is new?) until they arrived at something that was very much unexpected, at least to Clyde. There were stone houses built into the cliffs. The two had forgotten that they had wandered so far from their original destination that they wound up in what would later be Arizona. Clyde looked at the buildings and wondered how anybody could ever chisel something as elaborate as an apartment complex with nothing more than a… chisel.

"I could swear there are houses in them walls," commented Clyde.

"That's because there are," said Floating Duck, "Hundreds of years ago, the Pueblo settled down in this area and constructed these houses. However, due to weather conditions or political strife or whatever else could go wrong, they packed up and became hunter-gatherers again. I think this would be a good place to settle down and bring up a new nation."

"I say this is the best we're going to get. What do you say we go into one of them houses?"

Once the couple entered one of the lower stone houses, they found the interior to be surprisingly and refreshingly cool, a change from the arid climate. Although it was relatively dark, various shelves and bits of broken pottery were clearly present. Some of the pottery had imaginative designs influenced by nature and dreams caused by hallucination, making for some truly surreal candy for the eye. Floating Duck looked in the corner of the room and found the perfect item for their upcoming life change.

"Now I know that this place is perfect," she said. In that corner was a stone cradle that still had several small blankets made of rabbit fur inside of it. "The people who last lived here kept this particular part of the house furnished. It's like they expected our arrival!"

"Don't get too carried away."

"Now I won't have to worry about keeping the baby warm at night! I can focus my energy on killing animals so that we can keep warm! And I can get some clay to make new pots that can match the walls…"

"We've just settled down and you're already thinking about redecorating? Man, you have moxie, Floating Duck. Actually, can I just call you Flo from now on?"

Soon enough, a week passed and it was time for America to pick up his engagement ring. When he arrived at the jeweler's, he had his money ready – money which he "borrowed" from the bank account of Mexico's boss.

"You've arrived just on time," said the jeweler, always in a good mood. He squatted under his counter to take out a tiny, perfectly-proportioned box.

"Let's see what you did to that nugget," said America. The jeweler opened the box to reveal a ring that was just the right size for somebody who had fingers and skinny and delicate as Mexico's, although America did not ever remember telling the man her ring finger's size. Looking at the ring was akin to looking at a little, personal star in a carrying case. Its unflawed radiance brought a smile to his face, which meant that it would surely bring a smile to his fiancée's face as well. A tiny bit on top of the ring was in the shape of a golden bow. That part of the ring had been flattened beforehand and carefully sculpted with utmost concentration and plenty of time.

"I can't thank you enough for this," said America as he handed over the money.

As he walked back to Mexico's house, he made sure to keep the ring in his pocket and away from curious eyes, even though it was noticeable by the bulge that it made. As he walked past the assorted cacti big and small, he was trying to make peace with his conflicting viewpoints – the angel and devil on his shoulders, if you will. After much thought, he concluded that his decision on the proposal should wait until later, when things change – preferably for the better.


End file.
